Endeavour
by AquiIae
Summary: A retelling of the story of Final Fantasy Tactics, under the assumption that the Durai Papers were a lie.
1. Chapter 1: Sin

**Chapter 1: Sin**

* * *

Prince Lennard of Ordallia led 50,000 men to the gates of Zeltennia Castle. In it, lay an army that numbered only 20,000, the remainder of the Hokuten and Nanten forces on the frontline. The death of King Denamda IV did little to boost their morale, for his successor was a weak king and an absent ruler. They were tired of this war, weary of the endless strife that had plagued Ivalice for the past 50 years.

Lennard, sensing their insecurity, sent a message to the Lord Commander of the army. He called for the Ivalician army to surrender, for the rulers of Ivalice to return to the negotiating table. Ordallia had the upper hand, and was prepared to press the advantage. Ivalice had no chance of winning; refusal would only delay their imminent defeat.

Balbanes furrowed his brow. Zeltennia Castle was the last bastion of defence against the Ordallian forces. Generals Larg and Goltanna had already driven into him the strategic importance of this castle. If it fell, the entire nation of Ivalice was theirs for the taking. To surrender would be doing his country an injustice. To surrender would be disobeying the orders of his superiors.

He had made up his mind. He approached the balcony overlooking the Zeltennian forces.

"You shall go no further. We have vowed to protect this land, to repel all who would take it from us. We will not accede to your empty threats. We will not bow to the the might of Ordallia. To arms, men, and drive them back from whence they came!"

The horn of battle sounded. The soldiers took up their positions. The archers readied their bows and the wizards their spells. Balbanes slunk back into the castle. Surrendering would not have convinced the lords of the hopelessness of this endeavour; it would instead strengthen their resolve and whet their appetite for battle. Only the pain of defeat could jolt them out of their delusion. It was necessary to end this accursed conflict, to secure a lasting peace for the years to come.

"So be it," he whispered.

* * *

The battle was lost.

Supply caravans lay strewn about the floodplain, abandoned by soldiers fleeing the Ordallian advance. A heavy downpour blanketed the area, causing the banks of the Finath River to swell. Bodies were scattered about the plain, their faces contorted in a mixture of pain and fear. Balbanes' mission was simple - leading a squad to scour the river for any survivors, and take down any Ordallian stragglers still wandering about the area. There was a growing sense of unease among the group as they surveyed the area. None of them were thrilled by the prospect of facing their fallen comrades; those whom they had heartlessly abandoned in their frantic retreat.

"The Ordallian forces should have retreated back to Zeltennia Castle to regroup by now. We split up to look for survivors. Blow your horn at the first sign of danger. Move out!"

The knights went to work immediately, each heading in a different direction to search for survivors. Balbanes wandered off alone, keeping a lookout for anything of interest. He felt a tinge of guilt as he surveyed the carnage, painfully aware of the fact that he could have prevented this destruction. "It was for the greater good," he muttered under his breath. Now was no time to get emotional. He had a mission to accomplish, and he had no time to waste on such trifles.

His attention was drawn towards an abandoned caravan to the northwest. He could sense something inside it. As he moved closer, he could hear the thing furiously pounding on the supply crates. Balbanes drew his sword, prepared to put the monster out of its misery. He kicked over the caravan, scattering its contents about the ground.

"Aargh!"

A young girl tumbled out of the caravan. Her clothes were ragged, her face unwashed. She had evidently tried to pry open a supply crate, but was unsuccessful in this endeavour. She clutched the ground with her blistered hands, trying to regain her footing. Balbanes' froze, caught off-guard by the sudden revelation. He sheathed his sword and frantically rushed to her aid.

"Go no further."

Balbanes felt a blade brush against his throat. A brown-haired boy had come between him and the girl. He regarded Balbanes with a cold expression, seemingly unfazed by his intimidating stature. "Leave my sister alone," he intoned. He spoke in a calm and self-assured manner, displaying no hint of fear towards his opponent. Balbanes was caught off-guard, surprised by his sudden appearance.

In the distance, Balbanes heard the horn sound. Several knights rushed to his aid, pointing their swords at the young boy. The youth gritted his teeth. Hands shaking, he backed away from Balbanes and lowered his sword.

"Fool. How reckless of you, an ill-mannered street urchin, raise arms against a Lord-Commander of the Ivalician Army. How impudent of you to defile the grounds where dead men lie. You lot are just worthless brigands, leeches on the good and honourable. In the name of my lord, I shall strike you down and purge your filth from this land."

The boy flinched. He dropped his sword, realising the consequences of his actions. His face contorted into a grimace. "Run, Teta! Save yourself!" he yelled. The girl rose to her feet. Her eyes widened in fear. She ran towards her brother, grabbing him by the arm. "Delita, no!" she pleaded. The boy tried to shake her off, but she stubbornly clung to him.

The knight sighed. Eyes gleaming with malice, he raised his sword, prepared to kill both of them.

"Stand down!" Balbanes shouted. "Sheathe your swords, men. The Hokuten does not attack innocents, be they noble or commoner." He regarded the knight with a cold expression. "You would do best to recognise honour when you see it, Baldric. All the boy wanted was to protect his sister. He is no common brigand." The knight sheathed his sword, and knelt to the ground, muttering an apology to the children. Balbanes turned around to face them. "And who may you be, if I could ask?"

The boy shuffled unsteadily, visibly shaken by his close brush with death. "Delita. Delita Hyral. This is my sister, Teta. We've been wandering ever since our parents died. We saw the abandoned crates, and thought we could find some food to ease our hunger. We didn't know that..." His voice trailed off. He bowed his head in shame. "I.. I'm the one at fault here. I'm willing to face punishment for my actions. Just.. just don't harm Teta." His sister was on the verge of tears; she could scarcely imagine the consequences of his actions.

Balbanes smiled. "We're not going to harm you. Men, escort them back to camp. Give them food, and a change of clothes if you can find any. I will be taking these two under my wing."

The siblings were taken aback by his declaration. They could hardly believe their luck. Balbanes let out a hearty laugh, and gestured towards the horizon. "The storm doesn't seem to be letting up soon. Best get some shelter lest you fall ill." They nodded, and followed the knights back to the camp. The girl suddenly stopped in her tracks, and turned around. "Thank... you," she uttered. Balbanes smiled again. "It's nothing, really. Now, run along now."

As they left, Balbanes stood and thought about what he had done. He had seen something in the boy. He had all the makings of a knight. Honour, bravery, and a willingness to give his life to protect his friends and family. Balbanes bit his lip. He was a knight once, but he was hardly deserving of it now. That boy did what he could not, throwing away his life to save another. He abandoned his men at Zeltennia, leaving them to die at the hands of the Ordallian troops. His honour was sullied by the magnitude of his sins.

This was to be his atonement.


	2. Chapter 2: Conspiracy

**Chapter 2: Conspiracy**

* * *

Balbanes winced in pain. He could not rest. Not after what happened on the Mandalia Plains. How could he have failed? It was just a simple escort mission, yet somehow it went horribly wrong.

"Father! Is your wound troubling you again? Here, let me take a look at it."

Balbanes looked up. Teta was standing over him with a concerned look on her face. How long had it been? Six... no, seven summers had passed since their first meeting on the banks of the Finath River. She had lived with House Beoulve ever since, learning white magic from the priests in the monastery. Her brother had enrolled with the Military Academy at Gariland, and was doing well there, excelling in swordplay and strategy. She had been caring for him ever since he got injured, staying by his bedside well into the night.

"No, Teta, it's... okay. I'm... fine," Balbanes rasped.

"I insist! Please, let me see what I can do!" Teta said. Without waiting for a reply, she began to unwind the bandages that covered his wound. It was not a pretty sight. Infection had set in, turning the wound a vile shade of green. She winced at the sight. Balbanes sighed. Even the best practicioners in the land could not heal him, there was little Teta could do to assuage his pain.

Teta furrowed her brow. She cleaned the wound, and muttered a basic Cure spell over it. It soothed the wound, but did little to stem the growing infection. She frowned, and began chanting again. "It's... alright, Teta. I'll be okay," Balbanes muttered. Teta nodded. Fetching a swathe of bandages, she dressed the wound.

"When will the next healer come?"

"Soon, my dear," Balbanes rasped. "Duke Larg has promised to get the best priests in the land to tend to me. This injury won't last long." Balbanes gripped her hand tightly. "Fear not, Teta. I have fought and won many battles beyond counting. I will not succumb so easily to this infection."

The door opened. An older, bearded man stepped in. His orange hair was done up in a quiff, its tip flopping over the front of his face. He was clad in an exquisite robe, exuding an aura of dignity about him. He knelt in reverence to Balbanes. "At ease, Dycedarg," Balbanes said. Dycedarg rose to his feet. The eldest of the Beoulve brothers, he was a skilled diplomat and strategist who played a part in negotiating an end to the Fifty Years' War. "How goes the search?" asked Balbanes.

"We have traced Marquis Elmdor's kidnappers to Dorter, a trade city in eastern Gallione. We have tried to find out more, but sadly our sources have not been very... forthcoming of late," Dycedarg replied curtly.

Balbanes sighed. "We never imagined the Death Corps would attack his entourage. We were caught by surprise, and now those brigands have a hostage."

Dycedarg nodded. "I have instructed to locate the Marquis posthaste. Once he makes it back to Igros, we can start negotiations with Duke Goltana, and put an end to this damned succession crisis. But enough about that. Duke Larg's chemist has acquired an ointment that would help your injury."

"Good, good," nodded Balbanes. "Quickly, apply it to my wound, so that I would sooner know relief." Dycedarg moved to his bedside, and motioned for Teta to assist him. She quickly undid the bandages. The wound looked better, seemingly healed by Teta's attempts at curing it. Dycedarg gave her an odd look, but said nothing. "This won't hurt a bit," said Dycedarg. Uncorking the bottle, he poured the black liquid onto the wound.

Balbanes convulsed in pain. His body was burning, his limbs tearing apart. He could feel his lungs constricting, the air being forced out of his lungs. His vision was blurring, his body getting lighter.

"Dycedarg... how..." Balbanes gasped. Balbanes fell silent.

Dycedarg dropped the empty bottle, which shattered on the floor with a jangling crash. He grabbed Balbanes by the shoulders, trying to shake him awake, to no avail.

"It's no use. He is lost to us."

"Father!" Teta grabbed his hand. It was cold to the touch. "Why... why..?" Teta sobbed.

Dycedarg turned away from the scene. "Forgive me. I... need a moment to compose myself. I... will talk to Duke Larg. Get to the bottom of this." Dycedarg's voice was cold, his face emotionless. He abruptly left the room, leaving Teta to mourn Balbanes' death alone.

* * *

"Ramza, wait up!"

"Don't try to stop me, Delita. I will make Larg pay for what he has done."

Delita stared incredulously at the blond squire. To challenge Duke Larg's assertions was a foolhardy move on Ramza's part. Duke Larg was part of the royal family, and was trueborn brother to the Queen herself. A lowly squire such as Ramza stood no chance against him, even with his status as a noble. Even so, there was no evidence that Larg himself intended to kill Balbanes; he did not believe that a trusted friend of the Beoulves was capable of such treachery.

"Ramza, your brothers are investigating the issue, and I trust that they will find out exactly what happened. Right now, the Duke's chemist is going on trial for malpractice, and he will be punished for his transgressions. There is no cause for worry."

"That is precisely why I plan to pursue this matter," came Ramza's curt reply. "Duke Larg, my brothers and all the rest, they are all bound by their shallow titles and superficial relationships. They dare not challenge their boundaries, but meekly assume their places in society. I can already see how this is going to end. My brothers will withdraw their allegations as a 'personal favour' to the Duke, and we shall be none the wiser. I am the only one with the courage to seek justice for my father."

Delita furrowed his brow. Ramza spoke the truth, but he still could not fathom why Larg, or anyone for that matter, would want to kill Balbanes. The Fifty Years' War had ended, and Balbanes was no longer a Knight Commander of the Ivalice Army. Rather, he had assumed the mantle of a diplomat, negotiating settlements between the lords of Ivalice. However, it seemed no mere coincidence that his demise would coincide with the Marquis Elmdor's kidnapping, bringing the negotiations between Larg and Goltana to a halt.

"Ramza... the person behind all of this, I think that they are trying to sow discord between the Gallione and Limberry. For what purpose, I do not know. All I know is that we cannot let them get their way. We must rescue the Marquis and put a stop to this madness."

Ramza laughed. "Well, we better get moving. Where's the nearest Death Corps encampment? If we ask them nicely, maybe they'll apologise and hand the Marquis over like the well-behaved brigands they are. Or maybe they would prefer to kill us and stick our heads on the nearest pike. You can never tell with these guys sometimes."

"Dorter. He is in Dorter."

Teta stepped out of the shadows, a troubled look on her face. She had overheard the entire conversation, and it worried her greatly. "Dycedarg said that they had narrowed down the search to Dorter, that trade city in eastern Gallione. I think that they are holding the Marquis there." She shook her head. "Is there no other way? I fear the worst, that both of you would end up getting hurt, end up dead. I could not bear the thought..."

Ramza grinned. "We'll be alright. Between my magic and Delita's swordplay, there's nothing we can't handle." Delita nodded in agreement. "Ramza performed so well in the Academy, they had to group him with all the girls. You should have seen the looks on their faces. I don't blame them though, wouldn't want to be classmates with a smelly oaf such as him."

Teta smiled weakly. Reaching around her neck, she unclasped her necklace, fastening it around Delita's neck. "Brother... I want you to have this. It's the good luck charm Father bought for me, and I hope it will keep you safe on your travels." The emerald pendant glimmered in the sunlight, glowing brilliantly green. Delita embraced his sister. "We'll be back, Teta," Delita reassured. Ramza waved goodbye, and the two squires went on their way towards Dorter.

Teta sighed. No matter how hard she tried, she still could not help but fear for their safety. They were sinking ever further into the web of political intrigue, and she feared that they might come to harm. She prayed that the worst would not come to pass, prayed that they would find justice for Balbanes.

* * *

**Author's note: **Algus is absent in this chapter, and I don't intend to bring him in anytime soon. He's a gigantic ham, and I think it would be rather hard to justify his overdone class-ism (not sure if that's a word xD). I do have other plans for Zeakden though, so keep an eye out for that ;). I'm mostly making it up as I go along, so I have a vague idea of what I'm going to write, but it's not set in stone or anything. It'll mostly follow the structure of the plot, but I'll be changing a lot of details and a lot of characters as I go along.

Oh, and there aren't any Lucavi, Germonik Scriptures or holy stones in this fic. I'm going to keep it fairly realistic, sort of like real life except with magic and swordskills and class changes and stuff. Stay tuned for the next update!


	3. Chapter 3: Fugitive

**Chapter 3: Fugitive**

* * *

It was a cold Saturday evening. The Hammer and Sickle bar was quiet for this time of week; many of the slum-dwellers feared to go out at night, lest they fall prey to the muggers and thieves that roamed the streets. The Fifty Years' War had taken its toll on Ivalice. Brigandry was on the rise, with many citizens turning to crime to avoid starvation. The Death Corps were the among the most powerful and dangerous criminal gangs in Gallione. A former mercenary group, they had fallen from grace after deserting the army in the Battle of Zeltennia. They were discharged without pay, leaving them with nothing but bitterness.

Two strangers walked into the bar. They wore hooded capes, concealing their faces and the armor they wore. They seemed like passing mercenaries, an uncommon sight in a trade city like Dorter. They grabbed barstools and took their places at the counter.

"Would yer like a drink?" drawled the bartender.

"Two, and make it quick," came the reply.

"Here you go," said the bartender. He set the two drinks on the counter, and tried to strike up a conversation with the two. "You two mercs? I bet you got lots of stories 'bout yer adventures. Mind sharing a few?" He was met with silence. They probably didn't feel like talking. It was probably best to leave them in peace, he didn't fancy being stabbed in the gut by a moody mercenary.

The blonde-haired mercenary took the mug of ale. He raised it to his mouth, but dropped it at the last moment. It fell to the floor, shattering into a million pieces. The whole bar fell silent, startled by the sudden noise. Noting the horrified look on the bartender, his companion threw a few more coins on the table to appease him.

Delita shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He couldn't imagine how Ramza's plan might work. Times were hard, and people were desperate. They would not hesitate to kidnap a nobleman as it guaranteed them a small fortune in ransom money. It wouldn't be wise to draw attention to themselves, lest their identity be discovered.

The patrons, recognising that the danger had passed, resumed their normal chatter. Ramza squinted at something in the distance. "Over there," he whispered. A blonde swordsman stood out amongst the crowd, his armor and sword identifying him as a knight of some sort. His hair was short and neat, his cream cape bearing a distinctive but unfamilliar pattern. "He didn't even flinch when I dropped the glass. Quite the seasoned warrior, it seems. Also, that pattern on his back? Death Corps insignia, dates back to their mercenary days. Whoever this guy is, he's a veteran. I'd imagine we can get some useful information out of him."

The knight finished his drink. He stood up and walked out of the bar. "There's our cue," whispered Delita. The two squires lowered their hoods and went after him.

* * *

The knight ducked into a back alley. He had sensed something was amiss. Someone was out for his blood. "Let them come," he thought to himself. "Those fools are no match for one of my caliber." He unsheathed his sword. "Show yourself!" he shouted. There was no reply. "Where are you hiding?!" roared the knight. He grew more agitated by the second, swinging his sword around erratically.

"Wiegraf Folles."

"Who... argh!" Turning around was a mistake. An arrow had lodged itself into his left arm, causing him excruciating pain.

"How brazen of you to show your face in Dorter, in your old uniform, no less. You won't escape this time."

A band of archers emerged from the shadows. They were perched on rooftops, their bows trained on the knight.

"Drop your sword, Wiegraf. You're coming with us to see Gustav."

"Never!" exclaimed the knight.

"How disappointing. No matter, your death shall- urk!"

A sword had found its way into the mages' back. Delita withdrew his sword, and the wizard fell to his death from his perch. The remaining archers were barraged with a slew of lightning bolts, felling some and disorienting the rest. The knight drew his blade and brought down a fleeing archer with a carefully aimed Stasis Sword. The remaining archers fled the scene, not wanting to suffer the same fate as their comrades.

Delita hopped down from the roof. "Thanks," muttered the knight. "Your arrival was most fortuituous, but alas, I have some urgent matters to attend to. I'll be taking my leave, good sir."

A lightning bolt arced down from the sky, singing the spot in front of the knight. "Hold it," growled Ramza. "Wiegraf Folles. You're quite infamous around these parts, being the commander of the Death Corps and all. I imagine those mooncalves were after the fat bounty on your head. I mean, you can't just kidnap the Marquis and expect to get away with it, no? Now, tell us where you're holding him, or else."

Wiegraf grimaced. "The Death Corps fight with honour. We are no brigands; we would never stoop to their level. Your quarrel is with Gustav. That vile schemer turned my men against me, besmirching the name of the Death Corps with his treachery, and now he plots to upstage the nobility by kidnapping the Marquis. Gustav is probably holed up somewhere with the Marquis, he wouldn't give such an important job to his subordinates. If you let me go, I'll tell you where he went."

"He seems to be telling the truth, Ramza. There wouldn't be any reason for the commander of the Death Corps to travel alone, nor would he be hunted down by his former men. I think we should trust him, for now," Delita concluded.

Ramza bit his lip. He didn't believe that Wiegraf had severed all ties to the Death Corps, nor did he think that letting him go was a good idea. After all, he was still wanted for his crimes, and releasing him would be reprehensible. "You're not getting away that easily, Wiegraf. In fact, I've got a better idea. You can lead us there, and aid us in bringing down Gustav. We will decide your fate at a later time."

Wiegraf glared at Ramza. "I don't take orders from arrogant miscreants such as you. In fact, I have half a mind to smite you down where you stand."

Ramza pulled out a dagger and pointed it at Wiegraf's throat. "Try me," he snarled.

Delita let out an exasperated sigh. "Stop this charade. We all want to take down Gustav, but fighting over will not quicken his demise. We will rescue the Marquis and bring his kidnappers to justice, that much is certain. You're welcome to come along, Wiegraf. We'll need all the help we can get."

"Get off me," grunted Wiegraf. Ramza withdrew his dagger. "I'll help you two, on the condition that we go our separate ways once we're done. Deal?"

"Deal," muttered Ramza. Delita nodded in agreement.

"Good. We meet at the north gate of Dorter at sunrise. Gustav is holding the Marquis in the Sand Rats' Cellar, an old fort in Zeklaus Desert." Wiegraf glanced over the two squires, sizing them up. "Steel yourselves. Gustav's men are no common thugs. They would not hesitate to strike you down should they get the opportunity to do so. Hard to believe that you two planned to take down Gustav by yourselves. Who might you two be, then?"

"I'm Delita, and this is Ramza," said Delita, gesturing to his blond companion. "We're mercenaries from around here. Our employer wants us to rescue the Marquis to ensure peace between Gallione and Limberry. He judged the Marquis' rescue to be of paramount importance, and as the Hokuten were making no headway, he hired us to resolve the situation."

"Interesting. Very interesting indeed. Your employer believes that the Marquis should be rescued posthaste, yet he sends only two men to do the job. I fail to see what two men can accomplish by their lonesome, where even the mighty Hokuten have failed. I don't see the logic in going up against insurmountable odds."

"It's in the contract," grunted Ramza. "We do what gets us our pay."

"Oh? Well, your loyalty is... admirable, to say the least," remarked Wiegraf, looking slightly amused. "Well, we shouldn't tarry any longer. I'd imagine Gustav's men will probably be out for revenge. We march at dawn tomorrow. It'd be best to lie low until then." With that, Wiegraf turned and walked away.

Delita waited until Wiegraf was out of earshot. "So, what do you plan to do with Wiegraf after this is over? Do we let him take over the Death Corps, or do we make him answer for his crimes?"

Ramza shook his head. "I can't trust him. Wiegraf was commander of the Death Corps, back when they deserted at the Battle of Zeltennia. His actions have cost us the war; his cowardice has caused grief for all the people of Ivalice. Best not to be too trusting, Delita. Wiegraf is a treacherous man, and he would not hesitate to stab us in the back if it were to his advantage."

Delita couldn't understand Ramza's distrust towards Wiegraf. He seemed an honourable enough man, and he found it hard to believe that he would be capable of treason on such as scale as Ramza alleged. "Perhaps time will tell where his true loyalties lie. Right now, all we can do is prepare for the battle that lies ahead. We will decide what to do with Wiegraf then."


End file.
